Nostalgia
by glitterlavalamp
Summary: A quick one-shot from Bod's life after he leaves the graveyard, and sees something a little unexpected. Short and kind of sweet, and fun to write.


So, _The Graveyard Book_ made me ridiculously happy. Seriously, it left me wondering why more books like it didn't exist when I was young enough not to look like a fool whilst reading it. That said, I wanted to do something in honor of it, because the book and its author rock the world. And yes, I spelled "Honor" differently on purpose, despite what spell check is telling me. Please enjoy!

The evening air was cool, but after the heat of the day and the sheer pressure of the August atmosphere, Nobody was glad of the difference. He flipped a page in his book, and idly glanced up to see a little brunette girl toddling across the park. He looked around, and, observing the lack of supervising adult in the general vicinity, wondered briefly where she could be headed. Every few steps, she jumped excitedly off the path, then hopped bit by bit back to the concrete, eyes fixed on her feet. Her erratic hop-scotching drew her slowly down the path, and soon Bod recognized the bright green lizard scampering ahead of her, darting back and forth in a futile attempt to escape her relentless pursuit. Suddenly, a worried parent appeared on the path ahead of her, giving an exaggerated sigh and walking towards the girl to take her hand. The toddler pulled against the leading hand of the adult, reaching behind her to try to touch her rapidly fleeing quarry. Bod smiled, and returned to his book.

Something tugged at the back of his mind, though, something that seemed just a little off. He looked up again, almost dismissing it as his imagination, until he noticed the odd way that the pair's clothing seemed just a little out of date, the odd way that the parent and child walked, just a little too disconnected from the surroundings. The nail in the coffin, though, was the distinct lack of shadows behind parent and child, though the daylight threw the surrounding park into sharp contrast. In America, both the living and the dead set little store by tradition, and Bod had glimpsed more than these two ghosts in his month of travel. In any case, it reminded him of the graveyard on the hill, of his parents, of his friends, and of his former guardian. He let his head rest against the back of the weathered bench, and bathed in the memories and the last rays of sunlight. A similarly substanceless woman appeared from the woods a short way ahead, and greeted the man and girl as she walked towards them. Nobody wondered idly where the three were buried, walking around so freely. Many of the newer cemeteries seemed to be located on unconsecrated ground, another tradition fallen by the wayside in this country where celebrities were gods and tabloids holy writ. The three, the daughter now hand in hand between her parents, passed closer to Bod's reading spot, and he caught a snatch of conversation from the adults.

"Honest! A member of the Guard, here!" declared the man, his brown eyes just a little too excited to be dignified.

"Well, what was he doing here? There aren't any big graveyards around here, and no one of the Honor Guard has ever had a reason to visit, it's just so quiet here." The woman was clearly used to tall tales from, presumably, her husband, but appeared interested anyway, and smiled a little as she questioned him.

Equally interested was their unnoticed onlooker. The Honour Guard? The tiniest bit of him hoped, but- no, after all, he had never asked how many people were a part of the Guard, and it was likely that whoever was paying this odd visit was a stranger. And besides that, the dead's business wasn't his anymore, and he reminded himself that he had years before it would be again. He truly loved life, but a bit of wistful homesickness had to be expected, he guessed.

Nevertheless, when he got back to his rented room that night, he left a note on the window sill:

"Thanks, Silas."

and then went to bed. Somehow, he was only slightly surprised when, the next morning, there was a line of elegant script under his own copperplate writing:

"My pleasure, Nobody Owens."


End file.
